. Complete works of William Shakespeare . ht,Hither return all gilt with Frenchmens blood;There stuck no plume in any English crestThat is removed by a staff of France;Our colours do return in those same handsThat did display them when we first marchd forth; 320And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, comeOur lusty English, all with purpled hands,Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes:Open your gates and give the victors way. [behold, First Cit. Heralds, from off our towers we mightFrom first to last, the onset and retireOf both your armies; whose equalityBy our best eyes cannot be censured:Blo
. Complete works of William Shakespeare . ht,Hither return all gilt with Frenchmens blood;There stuck no plume in any English crestThat is removed by a staff of France;Our colours do return in those same handsThat did display them when we first marchd forth; 320And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, comeOur lusty English, all with purpled hands,Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes:Open your gates and give the victors way. [behold, First Cit. Heralds, from off our towers we mightFrom first to last, the onset and retireOf both your armies; whose equalityBy our best eyes cannot be censured:Blood hath bought blood and blows have answerdblows; [fronted power: Strength matchd with strengtn, and power con-330Both are alike; and both alike we must prove greatest: while they weigh so even,We hold our town for neither, yet for both. He-enter the two Kings, with their powers John. France, hast thou yet more blood tocast away ?Say, shall the current of our right run on ?Whose passage, vexd with thy impediment, 28. Iking 3obm scene l Shall leave his native channel and oerswell With course disturbd even thy confining shores. Unless thou let his silver water keep A peaceful progress to the ocean. [of blood, 340 K. Phi. England, thou hast not saved one dropIn this hot trial, more than we of France;Bather, lost more. And by this hand I swear,That sways the earth this climate overlooks,Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, [bear,We 11 put thee down, gainst whom these arms weOr add a royal number to the dead,Gracing the scroll that tells of this wars lossWith slaughter coupled to the name of kings. Bast. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers, 350When the rich blood of kings is set on fire!O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel;The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men,In undetermined differences of stand these royal fronts amazed thus ?Cry havoc! kings; back to the stained field,You
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